Kredity
PERFORMING ARTISTS
NJD
Vocals
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Nathan Delgadillo
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
NJD
Producer
Texty
Kerosene in my blood
The diesel runnin’ through my veins
Ethanol, it’s a flood
I got a bombshell for a brain
Gunpowder in my heart
Combusting capillaries
Need gasoline to start
The bombs like wild cherries
You’d do anything to keep this fire lit
To feel alive
I know it’s warm here but kid, this isn’t right
To breathe air this tight
Set your soul on fire, baby
Light your matchwood and never slow down!
Get your coal on pyres, fuel me
Up, burn me down, to the ground, come around and torch me!
Set your soul on fire, baby
Light your matchwood and never slow down!
Get your coal on pyres, fuel me
Up, burn me down, to the ground, come around and torch me!
Skin melts off, slice by slice
Just to reveal a bony frame
But to hell with that price
Cause’ life feels so good in these flames
And now I see the light
But was this really worth it?
Feel the weight, feel the smite
Does anyone deserve this?
You’d do anything to keep this fire lit
To feel alive
I know it’s warm here but kid, this isn’t right
To breathe air this tight
Set your soul on fire, baby
Light your matchwood and never slow down!
Get your coal on pyres, fuel me
Up, burn me down, to the ground, come around and torch me!
Set your soul on fire, baby
Light your matchwood and never slow down!
Get your coal on pyres, fuel me
Up, burn me down, to the ground, come around and torch me!
When the wax runs out and the flame runs about
You can barely see the hearse, there’s no bones, no doubt
Hot-headed, embedded with a one track mind
A vestige, been bested, by the passage of time
When there’s nothing left but a soft indent
And the weeds begin to grow out of a soul ill-spent
Obsession, oppression by the clocks that’ll chime
One more question, uncontested, why did you not take your time?
When the wax runs out and the flame runs about
You can barely see the hearse, there’s no bones, no doubt
Hot-headed, embedded with a one track mind
A vestige, been bested, by the passage of time
When there’s nothing left but a soft indent
And the weeds begin to grow out of a soul ill-spent
Obsession, oppression by the clocks that’ll cry
Not a question, a concession, I should’ve taken my t-
Written by: Nathan Delgadillo
